


flickers

by spookykingdomstarlight



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Kissing, Light Jealousy, Love Confessions, Misunderstandings, Oblivious, Pining, Post-Season/Series 07, Trick or Treat: Chocolate Box, Trick or Treat: Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-07 13:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/pseuds/spookykingdomstarlight
Summary: Tormund’s ridiculous, fiery eyebrows rose. He leaned in. Possibly, Jaime should have been worried. Tormund, like every man in the North save Podrick gods-damned Payne, could push Jaime Lannister’s golden ass across the great white snowdrifts at the end of a sword. “Your point is?” Tormund said, all but growling in Jaime’s face.Jaime swallowed and smirked right back. “I’m saying she’d sooner bed a white walker.”





	flickers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jiokra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/gifts).



When Jaime came to Winterfell, he didn’t expect a lot of things. A welcome for him, dubious and cool though it had been. Littlefinger dead at _Sansa Stark’s_ order. Brienne of Tarth currently engaged in an awkward one-sided romance with a wildling.

On second thought, that last didn’t surprise him in the slightest. Or, well, he saw the wildling’s point and Brienne reacted as boorishly as he might have expected should he try the same—which was to say, she stared at him with barely concealed disdain and turned her attention to the more important matters of besting Arya Stark in close combat and preparing for the inevitable rush of wights across the land. The Wall was breached, Tormund had brought that bad news back, but as yet there was no sign of them.

Were they lost, Jaime sometimes wondered. Or hoped, perhaps. It would be nice if the Night King found himself stranded in the wilderness, never to be seen nor heard from again.

Leaning against the ancient wood railing of a parapet that overlooked Winterfell’s training yard, Jaime watched on as Brienne trained Pod, showing little patience in each individual moment, but proving her patience overall with how long she kept him at it. That was Brienne, he thought, a mess of small contradictions that built to one solid, stubborn, consistent whole.

“She’s warming to me,” said wilding spoke, approaching from Jaime’s right, as wide-eyed and puppy-lost as ever. His thumbs hooked in the furs strapped around his body. “It won’t be long.”

Jaime scoffed, apparently loud enough to draw Brienne’s attention—or perhaps it was the strength of Tormund’s overbearing stare—whatever the case, she didn’t appear _warm_ , not by any stretch of the imagination. And her eyes quickly darted away. “You’re delusional in addition to being a mad man.”

Tormund’s ridiculous, fiery eyebrows rose. He leaned in. Possibly, Jaime should have been worried. Tormund, like every man in the North save Podrick gods-damned Payne, could push Jaime Lannister’s golden ass across the great white snowdrifts at the end of a sword. “Your point is?” Tormund said, all but growling in Jaime’s face.

Jaime swallowed and smirked right back. “I’m saying she’d sooner bed a white walker.”

Tormund, because he was a mad fucker after all, laughed. “I’ll kill every last one of ’em before that becomes an option. She’s warming to me. I’ll be carrying her off soon.”

He clapped Jaime’s shoulder, hard, the dull, dinging sound of his armor resounding from the slap Tormund’s parting gift. Jaime didn’t quite buckle under it, but it was a near thing. Once Tormund was out of earshot, he muttered, “She’ll be carrying you to the edge of a cliff and dropping you off it.”

That was to say, he hoped that was what she would do. Anything else was impossible.

*

Jaime took up his usual seat in the dining hall, near the door, across from Brienne. It made the back of his neck itch to expose himself this way to so many Stark bannermen, but it was worth it to be able to make conversation with Brienne that wasn’t rushed by war and split loyalties and _oaths_. They shared a side these days and Jaime was happy to take full advantage of it.

“So,” he said between swallows of a stew that might, _might_ have been considered hearty in the Night’s Watch during a famine. “Tormund.”

Brienne’s bright blue eyes narrowed and darkened with her unhappiness. Good. Her gaze searched Jaime’s features. She asked, proper and a little wary like the question was a dog that might bite her, “What about him?”

“You do realize he’s…” Jaime’s hand circled through the air to indicate as delicately as possible just what he meant. Heat crept up his neck. What Tormund wanted—and it was very, very clear what that was—wasn’t exactly polite mealtime conversation. And yet it had gotten under Jaime’s skin, sat there, irritating and hot to the touch.

It took her a long time to answer. “I do.” Another pause. “What of it?”

What of—? “He’s a…” But Jaime didn’t know what he was. A good fighter, sure. Boisterous. Gregarious. Jaime hated him, of course, and assumed Brienne did, too. Or had assumed. “You don’t care that he’s…?”

“I don’t want to discuss this,” she replied, her words frosted with ice. Her eyes, when she looked at him, were at least as chilly as her voice. “Least of all with you.”

That was… entirely fair? Hurtful? Jaime couldn’t decide, but he couldn’t deny her the right to table the discussion either. Still, they’d known each other for so long. He didn’t like the idea that there was something she couldn’t talk with him about. “You’re right.” He raised his hands. Having a lot of practice being conciliatory made it easy enough. His father, the Kingsguard, Cersei. They all taught him how to push aside his own feelings. That didn’t always help, of course, but mostly… mostly he knew how to concede, if not gracefully. “Of course.”

That just made Brienne frown all the harder. Dourness clouded her features, gave her mien an even fiercer quality than usual. “Good,” she said finally, though Jaime got the impression that she didn’t mean that in the slightest.

Well, a small, vicious part of him thought, _good_ , too. If he was to be miserable, so could she. If she preferred Tormund to him…

He sighed.

Even if a snake wound around Jaime’s chest and squeezed, dug its fangs into his heart and injected him with venom, that was her business.

But he didn’t have to like it.

“I think I’ll turn in for the night.” The wooden spoon he held clattered to the nearly empty bowl before him. The bench scraped across the cold, granite floor. A few people looked his way, but paid him little attention beyond that initial inspection. “Enjoy your evening, Brienne.”

He turned away and winced and desperately tried to avoid imagining that her night would conclude with her spending that time with Tormund.

It didn’t work.

But Brienne didn’t need to know that. And neither did Tormund.

*

Podrick stared up at him, his sword drawn, a determined look on his face. He wasn’t the scared child he used to be, Jaime noted, even if his skills were still lacking. Some days, Jaime missed Bronn. And this was one of them. Pod just couldn’t fight—or talk—the way Bronn did. Even as weak a fighter as Jaime still was, he could best Pod. And he did just that, thwacking him across his lower back with the broad edge of his sword.

Jaime barely withheld the huffed breath of frustration that wanted to escape from within him. “Let’s call it a day,” he said, sheathing his sword and swiping the back of his gloved hand across his forehead. At least he wasn’t actually sweating, he could say that much. It would be embarrassing if Pod could do that to him.

“We’ve only just started. Lady Brienne will—”

“—do nothing to you.” His eyes widened, his meaning pointed and clear or so he hoped. If Brienne wanted to complain to him that he hadn’t kept Pod at it for a full hour, she was more than welcome to do so. But he made a shooing gesture just to ensure Pod’s compliance. The young man really was loyal to her above all else. It wasn’t like Jaime couldn’t understand the impulse, but it was rather aggravating having the reminder staring at him with big, brown, judging eyes. Especially at times like this. “Off you go.”

There was a time when striking at another person with a training weapon would’ve improved Jaime’s mood. Oh, how times had changed.

There was a time when ginger-maned wildmen wouldn’t have afforded even the slightest bit of thought in Jaime’s mind, too, but. Well. Times. They changed.

He wanted to be angry, let every bit of his frustration out on the nearest able-bodied soldier. Or, even better, on Tormund himself. Instead, a tiredness he usually refused to let himself feel descended, leaving his limbs heavy and his chest full to aching like he’d run miles and fought the Mountain himself.

Stowing the equipment in a shed near the edge of the practice ring, he made to return to his quarters or—something. Anything away from other people. Perhaps a stroll outside the gates of Winterfell to cool down a bit. If a wight took him out, all the better. At least he wouldn’t have to put up with his own embarrassment any longer.

Unfortunately, he found himself face-to-face and chest-to-chest with Brienne only halfway to his destination. Dressed in a soft, but not feminine, tunic, gray to match the halls of Winterfell, she regarded him with equally cool eyes. He sketched a bow, figuring he couldn’t make things any worse by behaving like a spoilt child. “You’re looking quite well today, milady,” he said, pushing past her. “Very fetching. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“You were supposed to be training with Podrick,” she said.

“If you want _Podrick_ to improve, perhaps you should enlist the assistance of someone capable of helping.” He put a bit more distance between them before tossing a few more words over his shoulder. “Tormund, maybe.”

Despite the snow to cushion them, Brienne’s boots struck the ground with audible force. Without her armor, though, she didn’t clatter about quite as loudly as usual. It was strange then to feel her hand suddenly tug at his forearm. “I didn’t ask Tormund,” she insisted, vehement, a little defensive. A small part of Jaime was glad for that and a smaller part still was concerned about Brienne’s need to feel defensive at all. “What’s going on with you?”

He shrugged out of her touch. It burned him too much to feel it and know it was for nothing, a pointless gesture, a reminder of what he would never have. Whatever they might have had was in the past. The things that brought them together stretched across years of separation. They might have found themselves thrown together again, but they were different people now. He’d missed his chance. “Not a thing.”

“Jaime,” she said and it wasn’t fair that she could do this to him still. Without any effort at all on her part. “Please.”

“It’s nothing.” He stepped away and hoped she wouldn’t follow.

But she did, rounding on him with legs that were longer and apparently more determined than his were. She placed her hand in the middle of his chest, her fingers pressing, fine-pointed, against his sternum. “It’s not nothing. You must think me a fool if you would have me believe otherwise.”

A compulsion, more foolish than Brienne’s assertion, overtook him. Within a moment, his hand covered hers. Warm and steady, it flexed beneath his touch. “You’re the least foolish person I know.” _Except in this,_ he didn’t add. _Tormund, really?_

“I don’t feel that way,” she admitted, cautious, her eyes transfixed on his hand. They seemed to trace the outline of his fingers.

Clasping her hand, he turned it and brushed his lips across the back of her knuckles. It was the gentlest gesture he knew and it suited him ill. He wasn’t a gallant man, nor a chivalrous one. He wore scorn and mockery on his sleeve. He hadn’t charmed anyone in years and when he did way back when, it was only thanks to his youth and family name that anything approaching it was accomplished. The years and his own actions had stripped him of both. Wrinkles and gray hairs replaced smooth skin and gold strands. The word Kingslayer burned away the honor bestowed upon him by having Tywin Lannister for a father. It would sound silly to his ears and likely hers as well, but the truth usually did: “I only want you to be happy.”

 _With me_ , he again didn’t add. It wasn’t fair to her and it wasn’t something he could have articulated well even if he wanted to. To him, love was something to be kept hidden. Love was fierce and painful and unending, mutable, but not combustible, and not something he could ever express. No maester could excise it. If his children were anything to go by, even death could not touch it. Words, he couldn’t say. But actions, actions were easy.

He dropped her hand and he smiled at her and this time when he bowed, he meant it. “I’ll see you later.”

Brienne scoffed at him, perfectly indelicate and perfectly her. “I’d rather you stay,” she said, making his heart pound a little faster, “and explain why you’re acting like…”

Disappointment threaded through him. He’d thought that would be it, that he was done finally. “Like what?”

Her lip twitched slightly as a blush spread across the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks. For a moment, her expression crumpled before her resolve steeled itself into something far stronger than Jaime would have been capable of. Her teeth caught the light as she opened her mouth, chin tipped up in challenge. “Like you’re jealous of Tormund.”

Her eyes widened a little, like she was surprised she’d said it.

 _Since when are you so insightful,_ he thought. _Perhaps I’m merely that obvious_. Stunned, Jaime couldn’t think of anything to say in his own defense.

“That is it, isn’t it?” Despite her stance, confident and crisp, the words were spoken with hesitance, delicacy. It reminded him rather viscerally that they were out where anyone might see them and overhear. Of course, when Jaime spared a glance at anyone but Brienne, it was clear nobody was paying them any mind at all.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jaime… nodded, his eyes finding the flat, white sky far more interesting than it ought to have been under the circumstances. It was easier to stare at it than witness Brienne’s reaction in any case.

She huffed—he couldn’t exactly shut off his ears and unhear the sound—almost amused. Or perhaps darkly so. It was a surprising noise for her, one he wasn’t used to hearing. It startled him enough that he looked back at her.

There was an uncertainty in her gaze that troubled him. She’d been so sure and now…

“Damn the gods, Brienne.” His voice cracked, the words unsteady on his tongue. “If you want to be with Tormund, you should. You don’t have to worry about me standing in the way or—”

Brienne grabbed hold of him and pushed him toward the perimeter, a shady spot beneath the stairs where it was certain no one would hear or bother them. “I don’t— _Tormund_. Tormund is… he’s…” She sneered a little before reining herself in. “He knows how to fight. He’s a good man somewhere beneath all that… fur. But I don’t love him. I couldn’t.”

Jaime’s stomach soured. His nerves twisted and coiled, his whole body tightening. “You don’t,” he said, “love him?”

She chewed, frustrated, on her lip. Annoyed, she finally said through gritted teeth, “How could I when I prefer another?”

“Wh…”

But before he could finish the question, she crowded him toward the wood fence and grabbed hold of his leather coat. It was fur-lined, like everything in Winterfell, but he chose not to say anything to her about it. Not that he could anyway, because suddenly she was kissing him, sharp and biting with no finesse at all. Clumsy, maybe. Or merely powerful. Either way, Jaime, once his brain caught up with the rest of him, pulled her closer, fervent. He wouldn’t question his luck, not now, not when he could allow himself to hope…

She let him go, still close enough that they breathed the same chilly air. “It’s you, Jaime,” she said, quieter than the snow that almost constantly fell around them.

He lifted his hand, brushed at the dry hair around her ear that had begun to stray from her usual slicked back style. “Tormund will be disappointed.”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “Tormund will find another woman to stare at. He’ll be fine.”

Jaime wasn’t so sure of that, but Jaime, not at all to his own surprise, too, found he could live with that.


End file.
